


Into That Good Night

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:04:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Umm...well - a Y2K bug snuck up and bit me and..and...and the guys made me do it!  Honest!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into That Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, not spellchecked and the demon speller LOVES me, so consider yourself warned. ;-) 
> 
> I have NO idea where this came from, only that a friend of mine asked me, after reading it, if I'd written this after a nightmare...::babbling in the haste to explain...:: 
> 
> Warnings: Y2K end of the world story. You have been warned. :-/

## Into That Good Night

by Samantha Agee

Author's disclaimer: Don't own them, wish I did, imagine the possibilities. ;-) Not for profit, unless you count feedback as profit. 

* * *

The flurry of belated activity that had overshadowed the last few days \- tracking and containing militant wackoos determined to survive the millennium, survivalists equally determined to horde anything and everything they could, even if it meant taking food out of the mouths of children \- it all seemed so useless now. The frantic burst of barely controlled panic as the Powers That Be and then the World At Large finally realized \- hey - we're in deep shit, here. 

And they were in deep. Shit. Because the bug that everyone had feared and then scoffed - the all powerful, all encompassing irony that was Y2K... 

...was real. 

And they weren't going to make it. 

* * *

Detective Blair Jacob Sandburg, Guide and Shaman of the Great City had had a Vision. Capital 'V'. As visions go, it was a doozy. 

Just imagine every war, holocaust, and end of time movie ever to crawl across the screen of any American's tv set and you only scratched the surface. What Cascade's newest detective had witnessed had been beyond horrible, beyond description. And had locked Sandburg in his old room for two days. No amount of coaxing from either of his lovers had brought the younger man out until sunset of the second day... 

...when he told them both, Detective Jim Ellison and Detective Brian Rafe, Sentinel and Warrior of the Great City, respectively, that he had seen the end of the world. 

They believed him. 

He didn't. 

Couldn't. Wouldn't believe that it would end this way. Fires, riots, savagery from the most rational, normal, civilized of human beings. 

No, there had to be another way. 

Forsaking work, Blair had proceeded to wear himself out, meditating, searching, locking himself in hours of endless emailing sessions, chat session with other mystics, scientists, researchers around the world for days, hoping against hope that there would be something - anything \- they could do. An answer, no matter how fantastic, no matter how out there - a way to pull the white bunny out of the magician's hat just one more time. 

Nothing. No bunny. No magician. No magic. 

Not this time. 

So now they waited. It was futile to go out; the sun was going down on this eve of the new millennium and the only people left out in the dark were not sane. Desperate, in denial, driven over the edge, yes \- but not sane. 

Simon had ordered all of his personnel home, detectives and patrolmen alike, after an incident earlier in the day that had cost one young, innocent rookie his life. Eighteen and so new to the force he was still shiny, the patrolman had stopped a wild looking man, middle-aged and wearing a business suit, throwing a tv through the window of a neighboring grocery store. When confronted, the businessman turned and killed patrolman Martin Thomas, bludgeoning him to death with broken bit of window siding. After that, Captain Simon Banks had called martial law, brought in the Army and ordered his men home to their families. 

Simon would be spending his remaining hours with his son Daryl and ex-wife, Joan. Amazing what impending destruction could do for a reconciliation. 

Detective Henri Brown and Inspector Megan Connor had decided to head down to the local bar and see how far they could smash before the nasty bugger hit. Megan's words, though somewhat confused, were seconded with grim determination by the normally jovial black man as the pair nodded one last time to those gathered and walked toward the door. 

Only some, like Jim, Blair and Rafe, had no families other than themselves to go to. So, after a solemn good-bye to their captain that included handshakes and even a breakdown leading to poignant hugs from the 6'5" Chieftain of Cascade's 'tribe' to one neo-hippy witchdoctor punk, by mutual unspoken agreement, the three men found themselves back at the loft, looking around one last time. 

Though it sat ill with him, felt like an itch he couldn't scratch, the 

Sentinel would have to let his city fend for itself. For now there was nothing he could do except wait and hold the two he loved, the ones that meant most to him in this life. Hold them and protect them like he couldn't do for the city. Hold them into the approaching night. 

* * *

There was an air of quiet futility as, for lack of anything else normal to do, in the kitchen, Rafe started dinner and Jim began wandering around the open space, putting things away, tidying for the end. Blair saw this and Jim saw that he saw and the two shared a smile made all the more comfortable for it's long standing familiarity. It was a cardinal rule; Jim cleaned. Both men were pretty sure it was in the Bible itself, somewhere. Blair turned, heading into his old room, now office/gym storage to say good-bye to some old friends. Maybe...maybe he would even be able to contact Naomi. 

In the next couple of hours, dinner, though delicious, was eaten for it's routine, dishes removed and loved ones contacted just to hear familiar voices as the sun slowly sank over the water, gradually darkening the sky from blue to a blazon of pinks, golds and oranges to lavender and dusk. The loft had received one last scouring as CD's were listened to one last time until finally, as the fire receded, there was nothing left to do but await the end. 

The lights off, every candle lit, the three men settled in on a nest of blankets Rafe had placed in the main area in front of the balcony doors. The fire Jim had started in the fireplace danced and crackled cheerfully as they watched, each still lost in their own thoughts. 

"i love you." 

Quiet, the hitch in the voice soft, that was the breaking point as emotions, no longer held in check for the world, sent hands wondering over warm skin, eyes seeking to drink in every detail to hold them into memory. Slowly, gently, with all the time in the world, clothing was removed, bodies worshipped, cherished for the souls within and, in a last desperate attempt at affirmation, life was embraced in soft touches, whispers and kisses. 

They made love for hours, slowly, passionately, with everything they were and had ever been, allowing no amount of love left unexpressed, no secrets hidden behind masks or walls. They gave everything, each taking and giving to the other; hearts given through bodies and returned in kind for all eternity. 

As they lay tangled upright together, Rafe laying against Jim, Blair's compact body filling and fitting into the crevices they created, they held each other, gazing at the city, grown dark but still alight, it's manmade brightness sparkling in points across the water. On the television, one lone individual, defiant, demented - or both - gleefully pushed the button in New York and the ball began to drop. 

Blair's tears fell with it, silently rolling down his face as Cascade's Shaman turned away to bury his head in a hollow joint created by the joining of his lover's bodies. Rafe stared in horror at the screen, unable to look away, fighting back a lump and tears of his own as his hand automatically buried itself to comfort in soft curls. 

Jim Ellison, Sentinel of the Great City, responded by pulling his Guide and Warrior tighter into him as he, too, stared at the screen, a primal part of him needing to watch, to protect in some way, until the very end. Across the continent, the ball continued to drop and the crowd's cheers turned to screams as the world exploded. 

End. 


End file.
